


When I Was Young it Was More Important

by raedbard



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-16
Updated: 2008-09-16
Packaged: 2017-10-06 13:00:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raedbard/pseuds/raedbard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A kiss, a long time ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When I Was Young it Was More Important

**Author's Note:**

> for lifeasanamazon in the 'first kisses' meme.

He seems so much older, even though he is only twenty-nine, only five years further on in life than she, yet blackened - it seems to her - by so much more life. The cusp of thirty seems far off to her and the ring on his finger shiny and cold. It shines in the darkness, when they have turned off all the lights, sitting side by side in the night, talking dreams and ideals, thighs touching, breath catching.

He is the only person in her life, apart from her middle brother, who never calls her Claudia. Always 'CJ'. Always softer than the air, the breath of her other name in his mouth, like smoke.

He is not the only one she has ever dreamed about, but he is the only one she has never sought out once the dream was done. He is the only one she knows she will never need to seek.

She only had one joint that night, half of one. The smoke curls in her throat, in and out, colouring the air. She can see - or imagines that she sees - trails in the flap of the curtains in the breeze from the open window. She is suddenly cold, light-headed. She curls closer to him, wrapping her arms around herself, resting her cheek on his shoulder. She takes another drag on the joint when the breeze seems to have died down. One breath in, one out, one in. The smoke nestles in her mouth, warm and sweet. She turns her face up to his, and closes her eyes. From her mouth into his; the smoke billowing around their faces; his lips are soft; she feels sleepy; his fingers tug in her hair; they sink to the floor.

So it happened in pot, and it will happen in whiskey, and it will happen in grief, and it will happen in joy. And every time she will remember the heaviness of his fingers and the black of his beard, and the taste of smoke in both their mouths.


End file.
